


When There is Nothing Left

by orphan_account



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Captivity, Chains, Character Death, Dark, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual, Spoilers, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, but not jesse, canon abuse of poor jesse, ooc, post Ozymandias, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Ozymandias. Mostly likely not compliant with any following episodes. My rather porny, rather ridiculous take on what happens after Jesse is kept prisoner. (Hint: Todd takes a shining to him). It's OOC, it's ridiculous, and it is in no way my belief of what will actually occur, I just wanted to write these two together!</p>
            </blockquote>





	When There is Nothing Left

The first day in the warehouse, Jesse spent entirely alone, only the candid photo of Andrea and Brock to keep him company. 24 hours ago, his first instinct would have been to fight, to rage against his captors, against Mr. White and Saul and everyone else who put him in this position. He might have tried to escape when Todd first pulled him out of the cage. After all, it hadn't even looked like Todd was armed, and he wasn't that much larger or stronger. 24 hours ago, Jesse might have screamed and shouted, broken whatever he could reach, thrown around whatever he couldn't snap in half. He might have armed himself, physically and mentally, for whatever they could do to him. 

But now, beaten into submission by the Neo-Nazi gang, tormented by the fact that Mr. White had been the one to arrange the hit on him, and shaken from witnessing two DEA agents gunned down and subsequently being held at gunpoint himself, he was at the end of whatever spring of fight he had in him. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to focus long enough to attempt to cook...although, of course, not cooking wasn't an option. Not with Andrea and Brock's lives on the line, lives that he had been continually endangering since the moment he met them. 

It seemed to Jesse that everything that happened to him, everything that he kept blaming on others (Mr. White's stoic face swam into the forefront of his mind as it always did when Jesse's mind began wandering down that self-loathing path of victimization) was actually his own fault. He had caused Jane's death. He had the audacity to think that he could maintain friendships, relationships even, and still cook, still be involved in this business. He should never have taken Mr. White up on his offer at the very beginning. He knew guys whose lives were ruined by this business. He had seen what happened to all the drug dealers and cokeheads that he surrounded himself with, and he knew better than to get in this business. But everytime he tried to stop, tried to change and get out, or even alter anything to make his life seem just a tiny bit less hopeless, someone else always got hurt. It was like Mr. White engineered it that way; found the perfect hoodrat junkie to alter to his will and force down a path of dirty and disgusting deeds from which he would never return...

Rarely did Jesse let such poetic thoughts cross his mind, but now, standing in the empty warehouse faced with only one true option, he allowed himself a few moments of pity, anger, sadness, a few moments of poetry, before he ripped his gaze from the picture and turned toward the worktable.

\----

Jesse wasn't as good of a cook as Mr. White. He didn't have education or degrees or innovative ideas in the field of science, but he did know how Mr. White cooked, and he damn well was second best in the business. He still took pride in that, on some days. If it weren't for Brock, he would take far more pride in being able to provide for himself and for others, if he wanted to. He used to. But now he just felt sick to his stomach as he let himself fall into the image Mr. White had created for him. He let himself become the meth cook that could beat out everyone else's clarity. He walked through each step almost automatically, but with the same care and attention as had been drilled into him all those times in the RV, in Gus's workshop, in the fumigated houses. He hardly even needed to try to obtain the blue color so sought after in the European markets. It was second nature now, and he knew he couldn't cook badly even if he tried. 

He was taking a much needed break as the first batch cooled when he heard the large metal doors slide open. He could make out a figure standing in the afternoon light, and almost immediately he knew it was Todd. Todd, who had locked him away down here. Todd who had almost seemed like a friend, a like mind, although perhaps a little too naive for this business. Jesse knew better. Or, he thought he did. Todd, after all, had been the one to lock him down here.

And it was Todd who now stood at the edge of the warehouse, waiting, it seemed, for Jesse to speak.

And so, he did. 

"Hey, fuck off, I'm cooking here, all right? Like you wanted. So fuck off and let me do it, bitch." The shakiness of his voice entirely ruined the bravado of his words, and Jesse winced as he remembered the giant mass of bruises that undoubtedly made up his face and torso.

Todd stood still for a few moments longer before walking slowly into the warehouse. Carefully he slid the metal door shut and made his way to where Jesse stood, leaning up against the worktable. Todd looked him up and down before smiling slightly. "Need a hand?"

"No, I don't fucking need a hand!" Jesse nearly shouted. "I know how to cook, unlike you."

"Mr. White taught me how to cook too. You just worked with him longer, is all," said Todd, unfazed. Jesse noticed that Todd stood slightly out of arms reach. Curiosity getting the best of him, Jesse took a step forward. Todd didn't move.

"Or maybe I'm just better than you, bitch," Jesse spat, stepping right up to Todd and glaring, their faces inches apart. 

Todd's expression didn't change. "You are better," he said quietly. "For now."

They stood staring at each other for a few long moments. Jesse, unsure of what to do, resolved not to break first. Finally, Todd smiled a little wider and stepped away, examining the workstation quietly. "Looks like you've found everything okay. Do you need anything else?" he asked. 

"Need-? Do I need anything?! Yeah, how about I need to be let out of here, asshole!" 

Todd looked at Jesse thoughtfully. "You know that's not going to happen. Just keep cooking and everything will be all right."

"All right?! I'm not stupid, you know. I know you're going to kill me as soon as you figure out how to cook right," he said. 

"That's what my uncle wants, but we'll see what happens. Lot of things change all the time around here," Todd responded. "I don't want you to die, Jesse. I really don't. I'll help you when I can, all right?"

Jesse stared. "Yeah fucking right!" 

"I convinced them not to kill you in the desert, didn't I?" 

"Yeah, but just so you can kill me later!"

Todd shrugged. "We'll see. I'll be back later to check on the batch. Do your best, Jesse. We'll get through this."

Jesse stared at Todd, who smiled one last time before walking quickly to the other end of the warehouse and left.

Groaning, Jesse resigned himself to finishing up the first batch. 

\---

Jesse's albeit unreliable internal clock told him only a few hours had passed when the warehouse doors slid open again. Todd stepped into the large room, carrying a small, white plastic box. Jesse knew he must have timed this visit for when Jesse would be able to take a break again, lest he neglect the batch and ruin it.

"What do you want this time?" Jesse accosted him immediately, trying not to betray his interest in what the box contained.

Todd gestured to the stool at the end of the table. "Sit."

Warily, and very aware of the metal chain that kept him anchored to the track in the ceiling, Jesse walked over to the stool and sat down. The chain tugged at his clothing, causing his bloodstained shirt to lift slightly to accommodate his change in position.

Todd cleared a small space on the table next to Jesse and set the box on it. As he opened it, Jesse saw first aid materials - bandages, gauze, rubbing alcohol, a small ice pack, even needle and thread. Disbelief washed over him as Todd examined the materials before turning to Jesse.

"The swelling is pretty bad," he said, staring at Jesse's puffy face. He gently touched Jesse's chin, and Jesse found himself turning his head along with Todd's slight nudges. 

"The fuck are you doing?" He stuttered out, finally.

Todd shrugged. "Your face looks pretty bad. It's probably hurting you a lot, which probably makes it harder to concentrate on cooking."

"Damn right it hurts! Just give me a fucking mirror and I'll fix myself up!" Jesse said, glaring.

"Can't give you a mirror, you could break it and use the shards as a weapon. And I'm not allowed to leave the med kit with you. It's either I clean you up, or you sit here in pain," Todd shrugged, dropping his hand to rest on the kit.

Jesse seriously considered telling him to fuck off, and for a brief second his mouth formed the words...but he knew it was futile. They were just going to kill him eventually anyway. Might as well not be in pain until then. "Fine," he spit out.

Todd nodded and began pulling out everything he needed. He set to work on Jesse's face, using surprisingly soft hands and gentle touches to clean off the dry blood and disinfect the open cuts. After a few minutes of sitting in silence with the other man, Jesse began to fidget, not sure where to look; at Todd's freckled face, inches from his own? 

Away entirely, not acknowledging the man patching him up? He struggled internally with this, working hard not to catch Todd's gaze, until finally Todd stepped back.  
"I'll give you this ice pack for now. I'll make sure they send in another one when you get food later. Just try to keep it on your eye whenever you're not working, okay?"

Jesse nodded, then hesitated before whispering, "Thanks."

Todd cocked his head, then gathered up the box and left Jesse to his thoughts. 

\---

Days passed. Jesse cooked, slept on a pallet Todd had made up on the floor for him next to the workstation, and ate whenever food was brought to him, almost always by Todd. Every now and then it was a different flunkie, but none of them spoke to him or spent any extra time with him like Todd did. Jesse would have suspected this to be because Todd was trying to learn how to cook from him, but he never asked questions or observed Jesse's work. Instead, he brought whatever Jesse needed, spoke to him in a quiet, friendly voice, and then encouraged Jesse to keep working. He'd always leave soon after, and Jesse would sit back and wonder what in the hell his life had become. 

Finally, on what Jesse counted to be the fifth day locked in the warehouse, Todd showed up after his evening meal. In his hands was a stack of clothing. Jesse sat up from where he had been resting on his pallet and waited for Todd's explanation.

"Hi Jesse," he said, dropping the clothes on the bed. "Brought you a change, thought you'd be ready for it. Sorry I can't let you out to shower or anything, but you'll feel better once you've changed."

Jesse nodded and grabbed gratefully for the clean t=shirt and jeans. He made to pull his shirt off, but stopped when he remembered the chain. Expectantly, he looked up at Todd.

"Oh, right," Todd said, gesturing for Jesse to stand. When he did, Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. Quickly he unlocked the chain and held it while he watched Jesse strip off his shirt. 

"Aren't you, like, afraid I'm gonna make a run for it?" Jesse asked, as he tugged off his dirty jeans. 

"No."

"Uh, why not?" 

"It's really just a precaution. You know what'll happen if you try to leave," Todd said, quirking his head towards the picture of Andrea and Brock that Jesse found himself staring at each and every day.

Jesse didn't respond. He pulled the shirt and pants on, surprised at how well they fit, and turned around again for Todd to refasten the chain. He heard the click of metal, but Todd didn't immediately step away.

"Yo, what are you doing back there?" Jesse demanded, turning his head only to meet Todd's gaze as the taller man stood mere inches from him. "Get away from me!"

Jesse tried to step back away but found himself jerked back to Todd, who had a firm grip on the chain. Suddenly, Todd's hand pressed against the injured side of Jesse's face, forcing Jesse's head to stay turned towards him, and placed his lips against Jesse's own. Jesse tried to pull back, tried to shove Todd away but the angle was such that he couldn't get a good grip. Reaching behind his head he grabbed Todd's head and tried to rip his mouth away, but Todd pinched the bruised side of his face and Jesse yelped and dropped his hands. Todd pulled away slowly, hands still securing Jesse in place.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING DOING?" Jesse immediately screamed, panic suddenly overtaking him. He tried to tug and rip himself out of Todd's grasp, flailing wildly and violently. Todd waited a moment before letting Jesse go, and gave him one last smile before turning and walking out the warehouse. 

"GET BACK HERE AND FUCKING TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK THAT WAS ALL ABOUT, ASSHOLE! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN RIP YOUR GODDAMNED FACE OFF! FUCK!" Jesse continued shouting expletives and threats, but didn't pursue the man out. He wouldn't have made it very far with the chain still secured to him, and suddenly his legs felt very, very tired, as if they could no longer hold him up. He slipped to the ground next to his pallet and sat there, breathing heavily. What the actual fuck did Todd think he was playing at? And what the fuck was Jesse going to do to stop him next time?

\---

Five more days passed. Jesse cooked, ate, slept, and saw only Todd. Todd, who brought him food, clean clothes, and inspected the batches he was making before whisking the perfect blue meth away. And each night, after Jesse's evening meal, he would show up again and pin Jesse to the ground, kiss him gently and leave. Afterward Jesse would lie on his pallet and wonder what the fuck he had done to deserve this, why after everything else, this had to be what happened. Why they wouldn't just kill him already.

Because the absolute worst thing about it, worse than that it was a violation of his body, worse than the fact that it was another man, was that he didn't actually hate it.  
Todd was the only other person he came into contact with anymore. Todd was even kind to him, and made sure he had clean clothes and food and encouraged his work. No, he didn't for a single second have any illusions that Todd was actually a good guy, or that he would actually let Jesse free, ever. But he wasn't hitting him or torturing him or, so far as he could tell, killing anyone he cared about. Todd would just...kiss him. Nothing more. 

Jesse spent most of his 11th day in captivity wondering about the kissing, wondering about his responses, wondering about how anyone else would react if they knew what was happening. As night approached, Jesse found himself waiting, almost in anticipation, for his last meal and visit from Todd. 

He wasn't disappointed.

\---

On day 20 of his captivity, Jesse kissed Todd back, and spent a sleepless night wondering about the consequences. 

\---

On day 26, Jesse acquiesced as Todd's tongue mapped out his mouth, moaning slightly as the skilled tongue battled with his own. Todd stayed a few minutes longer to chat with Jesse after, but left as soon as Jesse brought up the kissing.

\---

On day 29, Jesse realized Todd no longer pinned him down before they kissed. Jesse wondered how long it had been since that changed, but couldn't come up with an answer.

\---

On day 32, Jesse groaned and grabbed the collar of Todd's shirt as the other man palmed Jesse's growing erection. He found himself frotting against Todd's cupped hand as their tongues battled for dominance. After a few minutes, Jesse felt an embarrassingly familiar sensation in his groin. When it was over, Todd stayed and sat with him for half an hour before leaving Jesse to sleep. It wasn't until after Todd left that Jesse realized Todd had started carrying a handgun each time he visited.

\---

On day 35, after coming in his pants for the fourth time in as many days, Todd stayed the entire night with Jesse, sleeping next to him on the small pallet that forced them to spoon each other, his clothes and gun placed neatly on the table. Jesse knew he should object, knew he should scream and yell and force Todd out, or at least fight to be the big spoon, but somehow he just couldn't find the energy, and instead fell deeply into sleep. Todd was gone in the morning.

\---

Todd stayed with Jesse every night after that, but they progressed no further until day 42. As Todd reached his hand into the front of Jesse's pants, Jesse pulled his face back. "Maybe...we should get more comfortable?" He gestured to the pallet.

Todd smiled and nodded. To Jesse's surprise, he unlocked the chain Jesse had become so familiar with, and pushing it aside he began to pull Jesse's shirt off. Jesse helped, and then reached for Todd's own. Soon they were both stripped down to just their underwear. Todd grinned at Jesse before pulling his own boxers off, and waited while Jesse did the same. 

\---

On day 43, Jesse woke before Todd. Realizing that the chain was still removed, he quietly rolled off the pallet, put his clothes back on, and picked up Todd's handgun from the worktable. Staring down at the sleeping man next to him, he pointed the gun at Todd's head, and taking a deep breath to stave off the tears that threatened to fall - after all, it wasn't like he hadn't killed before, but this was Todd, he had fucking had sex with Todd, and if that didn't fill him with dread and sickness and a strange sort of thrill, then he was kidding himself - he squeezed the trigger.


End file.
